Burglar
by fanfic-addict21
Summary: What if Bilbo actually was a Burglar as a tween? He's got morals, though - and returning his thefts helps him never get caught, until he steals from a Dwarf who he later cannot find to return the item. Thorin discovers the theft when he meets Bilbo in Bag End and thenceforth has a wary respect for the Burglar's skills. Light Slash.
1. Chapter 1

AN: This is an AU idea that popped into my head as I was reading through the piles of Hobbit fanfic that exist out there. I am a Thorin/Bilbo fan; Tolkien, forgive me. In all my wanderings through the pairing, I have not come across a story even remotely like this, but if you had the idea first, please forgive me.

What if Bilbo actually was a Burglar? If he was truly skilled, he'd never have been caught or seen, and even Gandalf has no idea. Well, Bilbo's not going to out himself, that's for sure. The journey remains unchanged, alternate prequel and ending. He refrained from showing off on the road (if he was too good, they'd start asking questions). Here, then, is the story of the one Burglary that he did not get away with. (Although, it took 30 years to catch him)

Twenty-two year-old Bilbo Baggins was a very bad Hobbit. His feet looked like normal Hobbit feet, but they were full of wanderlust. His hands looked like normal Hobbit hands, but they had very sticky fingers and not because he ate pie without utensils. He was an Adventurer, and he was a Burglar. Other hobbits his age were interested in eating enough to reach their full height, and just beginning to notice the opposite sex leading to awkward attempts at flirtation.

Not Bilbo Baggins. It was not that he needed the things he lifted, not at all! Usually, he returned them after only a little while. Some things he kept, but only if they would not be missed. Some things he returned to a person other than the previous owner, because he felt that it was fairer in that situation. He just liked the thrill of creeping and snatching, knowing that he could.

He grew tired of stealing from Hobbits very quickly. It was too easy, he thought. He ventured east to Bree and the villages within a day of the city, north and south on the Greenway for two days in each direction, around the lovely fishing communities of the lake to the north – Evendim, he had heard it called – and west, to the river Lune.

On the particular day of The Burglary (as he would later call it), he was dabbling his feet into a little pool by the river Lune and eating his lunch with a particularly interesting set of pewter utensils he had gotten from a merchant. They were wrought so they could fit against one another cleverly, interlocking into a seemingly solid piece unless you knew how to twist them in the exact way. He had followed the caravan from the edge of the Shire, and spent the last few days figuring out the puzzle, returning it at every meal time so the owner would not know.

Now he hummed over his success and enjoyed the fruits of his labor, and the fruits of his pie (brought from home and cooked by himself, thank you kindly!) The merchants had gotten stuck just after fording the river. One of their wagons had broken an axle pin (he did not have anything to do with that either… he had noticed it was worn, but he had not helped it along, not one whit, honest!) He had moved to a lovely hidden spot on top of a boulder a furlong away, not too sunny not too shady, and he planned to give the clever spoons back as soon as he was finished with his pie.

The merchants were cursing and ranting at each other as he sat up on his overlook and watched them. Further west down the road where the mountains reached up jaggedly along the horizon, a smudge of dust showed another party approaching. The merchants saw it too, and hoped they could trade for a new iron axle pin. Bilbo hoped it was Elves, because he had read many stories about them and listened to his mother talk about their grace and beauty, and how they travelled west sometimes. He took another contemplative bite of his pie and thought about all the Elvish words he knew. He was content this afternoon, belly full, thrill of stolen goods in his hands, late summer sun warming his face, far from home on an Adventure, and eager to see what new thing came down the road.

As the smudge approached, he guessed that it was a very small party, maybe even a lone traveler. He ate some more pie and sighed happily. The merchants hailed the approaching dust cloud and it slowed, and then stopped forty paces from them, allowing the dust to settle. Bilbo craned his neck forward to see the new arrival.

Well, it wasn't an Elf. It was not a Man either, or a Hobbit. It was three Dwarves with hammers over their shoulders. One was fair-haired, one was black-haired, and one had a blue beard but no hair on the top of his head. They were all sooty and dusty: smiths, Bilbo reckoned. The merchants were in luck. They argued with the Dwarves until they had agreed on a price for forging a new axle pin, and then the dwarves set up an anvil quick as quick (It had interlocks like the spoon set!) and made the piece right there in the middle of the road.

Bilbo watched, entranced as sparks flew and the three Dwarves worked together seamlessly. The black-haired one hammered, the fair one held the piece with tongs, and the blue-beard alternately stoked the fire and worked the bellows. They had obviously done this before, and the whole thing took less than half an hour. The merchants gathered up their things and made ready to leave as soon as the piece was done, and Bilbo slipped off his rock to return the spoons before they left.

"Here is your pin, sir," spoke a deep voice. Bilbo couldn't see which dwarf it was speaking. He was hiding behind a wagon and flipping through the packs to find the one he'd taken the spoons from.

"_Many_ thanks, dwarf," sneered a Man's voice, and Bilbo heard the chink of a copper coin hitting the dusty road.

He peered around the tongue of the wagon, alarmed. That did not sound good at all. It had to have cost more than a copper.

He saw the black-haired dwarf with bunched up fists and grim set to his mouth, trying to restrain his fury. The fair-haired one stooped to pick up the coin, and the blue-beard set his hand upon the shoulder of the black-haired angry one, murmuring "Come on, leave it be."

The dwarves turned and bundled up their equipment even more quickly than they had brought it out. They turned away, heading east again. Before they reached the west bank of the Lune, one of the Men spat on the ground and made a sign of warding off evil. Angry dwarf clenched his hands even tighter and scowled mightily, making as if he meant to turn back and whip all those Men by himself. His companions each grabbed one of his arms and hurried to drag him through the wading ford.

Bilbo made up his mind. He shoved the spoons into the merchant's pack and took five gold pieces out of five different packs instead. He crept along the bank to ford higher up where he would not be seen, and ran as fast and silent as he could after the Dwarves. They set a fast pace, but Bilbo knew every twig and bramble of this roadside, and so he was able to keep up. They travelled toward Evendim, and only stopped when the sun set.

They set up camp, and Bilbo could see that the dark angry one was still fuming and sullen about how the Men had treated him. The blue-bearded one waited until they had eaten to gruffly say, "There were too many of them for us to take, Thorin, and you know it."

Thorin – for apparently that was the name of the dark-haired one – said nothing.

"We don't want a reputation as killers, you said that yourself not two days ago," comforted the fair one.

This was too much for Thorin. He burst out, "Reputation? Reputation! You saw our reputation. It would not get much worse, even if we were killers, Vali! Those Men, aye and all the others, ascribe us a false reputation anyway!" He stopped shouting, shook his shaggy head, and mumbled, "What does it matter?"

Vali – Bilbo was sure this was the name of the fair-haired one – traded a speaking look with the blue-beard. They took out their pipes, and seeing this, Thorin followed suit. They all sat, smoking in silence in the muggy night.

Bilbo waited until they were sleeping and the fire had died down to coals before he crept into the campsite. He put the gold he had stolen into the pack Vali had been carrying. As he turned to leave, something stopped him. He looked a long time at the face of the Dwarf called Thorin.

He had not seen a Dwarf this close ever before, and the rough, craggy lines of his face made him seem carved from stone. His brow was heavy and marked with lines from that ferocious scowl, now smoothed in slumber. His nose was by no means dainty or upturned like a Hobbit's nose. His hair was coarse and twisted where it was not plaited. The plaits were held in place by beads. Bilbo crouched down to see how they were put on. There was no way it had been slid on, and upon closer perusal, he determined that they were actually clasps with nearly invisible closures. He opened one to see how it worked. A grin spread across his face. He loved to see such clever things as this bead.

Thorin suddenly snorted and rolled over. Bilbo scrambled back, nearly singing his foot hair. The Dwarf stayed asleep, fortunately, and Bilbo glanced at the others to see them still sleeping as well. He decided not to risk any more, and stepped silently away from the fire, sliding the clasp into his waistcoat pocket and setting off south under the stars, back to the Shire.

Dwarves were at least as interesting as Elves, he decided.

Who wants to guess the identity of the third Dwarf? If you get it right, we can have tea and cookies together. :)

~Thanks for reading!


	2. Chapter 2

Twenty-Eight Years Later…

* * *

"Very amusing for me, very good for you – and profitable too, very likely, if you ever get over it," the wizard said.

_Dear me_, thought Bilbo. _That sounds ominous._

* * *

"Dwalin, at your service," said the first unexpected visitor, bowing low on the stoop of Bag End.

Bilbo cocked his head, trying to catch a fleeting memory, and when the recollection hit, it made him stammer as he replied, "Bilbo Baggins, at yours."

The blue beard was even longer, and the bald head was etched with tattoos that had not been there before. He carried two axes rather than the hammer and interlocking anvil-piece, but the muscles that had rippled as he pumped a bellows looked even more impressive this evening than they had so many years ago.

Bilbo stood with his hand upon the latch, dumbfounded, as Dwalin hung his green hood on a peg and helped himself to Bilbo's teacakes.

* * *

"Fili and Kili, at your service," they chorused, dropping piles of weapons into Bilbo's arms. He fumbled the armful and one began to slide out of its sheath; he quickly righted it and scolded the muddy-footed miscreant. Shaking his head, he dumped all the weapons onto the floor willy-nilly, trying not to wonder why Vali had not aged a day _and_ changed his name.

"And this," the wizard pronounced, "Is Thorin Oakenshield, son of Thrain, son of Thror."

Bilbo very carefully did not remember ever seeing anyone remotely like this Dwarf anywhere, and in fact, thought about all the Elvish words he knew, which was considerably more than an odd evening twenty-eight years ago that had absolutely no relevance whatsoever to anything Dwarvish. None.

"…more like a grocer than a burglar," Thorin was remarking. Bilbo smirked to himself and decided to fulfill the snobbish expectation.

* * *

(If you don't like the turn the story takes after this point, you can read my AU of this AU: Sneak)

* * *

He closed the door and turned to say something appropriately self-demeaning, when Thorin choked.

Bilbo jumped.

Thorin's eyes were fixed upon his wrist.

The button on his sleeve was no longer there to hold it properly closed. Dazedly, he thought that it must have been ripped off in that debacle with the youngsters weapons.

Thorin's hand flashed and he gripped Bilbo's wrist almost painfully, covering what Bilbo had hoped no one saw. He wished Thorin had not seen it, especially, but it was a bit too late for that.

_Oh, dear_. Bilbo thought, as Thorin manhandled him back into the pantry he had been standing in front of and swiftly shutting the door.

"Do you have no shame?" The angry dwarf hissed menacingly. He tossed Bilbo's wrist from his grip carelessly.

Gandalf's worried voice wafted through the door, "My dear fellows, what ever is the matter?"

"Nothing," Thorin called back loudly. "I wanted a private interview."

"Bilbo?" Gandalf questioned.

Thorin glared at the hobbit. The hobbit pursed his lips and controlled his trembling knees.

Bilbo raised his voice and said in the most nonchalant tone he could muster, "Yes, it's fine, we'll only be a moment, Gandalf."

"Very well," grumbled the wizard.

Bilbo chanced a glance at the Dwarf. Thorin was still scowling mightily. Bilbo crossed his arms and scowled back.

"How came you by that trinket on your wrist?" demanded Thorin.

Bilbo did not want to answer, and a staring contest commenced. Thorin had more silver in his hair now, and the lines of his scowl were graven even deeper into his stony face. He carried a sword rather than his smithing apparatus, and his clothes were all shades of blue.

Bilbo wished he were more stubborn than the Dwarf, but it was no use. He debated for a moment whether to lie and say he found it somewhere or bought it, but strangely he sort of wanted to tell Thorin the truth.

Finally he uncrossed his arms and fiddled with the leather strap he had strung the clever little clasp upon. "I Burgled it, of course. I am a Burglar, you know."

Thorin took a threatening step toward him, crowding him against the shelves to avoid being touched.

"Give it back," he demanded.

"What- No! That is Not Done- eminently rude- how dare- !" Bilbo spluttered, for he had read up on Dwarvish customs and knew the implications of hair beads.

Thorin was taken aback for he had not thought that the Hobbit could know anything about what a gross breach of propriety he had committed. He drew himself up, and replied, "You had no right to it in the first place."

"But I'll not exchange it back to you in any case, you know. It's mine now, and you should have released it- should have done long ago. I don't know why you would not have, if you married a dwarf lady you would have had to and I could not find you anyway to discreetly return it, though I wandered all over looking and even made two separate special trips to the Blue Mountains to specially look for you. Of course, you must have released it because I do not doubt that such a fine and important dwarf as yourself would be allowed to remain single, especially considering your status now that I know it and that would have automatically released you from any other agreement however unknowingly made congratulations, by the way, I am sure she is lovely- " and Bilbo would have rambled on in this vein for much longer, but Thorin huffed an exasperated grunt.

Bilbo shut his mouth with a snap and an awkward silence descended. Thorin fumed and Bilbo wondered how his mouth had gotten so big that he could fit his entire hairy foot into it – metaphorically speaking of course.

Bilbo began to apologize at the same time as Thorin spoke.

"I'm sorr-"

"I never-"

More awkward silence lasted for a beat or two.

"I never married. I do not shirk my obligations and release a thing that I have made for no reason – for good or ill I knew not," explained Thorin. "I also made discreet inquiries, but could find no trace."

Bilbo pursed his lips and contemplated the floor. What could he say to such an avowal?

He had just mustered the will to look at Thorin again when Gandalf rapped his staff against the pantry door. "How goes the interview, Thorin, Bilbo?"

Very lowly, Thorin said, "Return it or not, at your discretion, Burglar." And then louder, "We have quite finished." He opened the door forcefully, nearly bashing the wizard and the crowded dwarves. "I have found that he is quite a suitable Burglar, and I thank you for your shrewd recommendation, Gandalf. Let us adjourn to the table, if you please." The last was obviously a command, not a request, and all the dwarves shuffled after Thorin into the parlor and dining room.

Gandalf cast a searching glance at the bewildered Hobbit still standing in his pantry, before following the throng.

* * *

AN:

I used Vali as the name for Fili and Kili's father. I know other people have used this name. So far I have seen him called Vili, Bili, Dari, Kali, Vali, and other variations. I cannot keep track of who used this name first, and I hope you are not offended. I have made him a calm sort of dwarf, which he would have had to be, to deal with the Durin temper. I do not think he will show up in the story at all, though Bilbo might ask what became of him and then they would have to have that discussion...

Explanation of my bead head-canon (yes I know they are fanon thing but I like them so so what?): TL;DR

The exchange of beads is tantamount to betrothal. Often parents would make the exchange without their children's knowledge, as a test to find the one with their bead. Sometimes friends would prank each other by removing the beads. If you wore someone else's bead, you were accepting the betrothal. It was very poorly thought of to give out more than one bead. So, Thorin searched for the person who had his bead and never found them, so he never married, despite his otherwise eligible-ness. Bilbo had no idea of this when he took the bead, but he has since done his research and thinks he understand the implications. A bead cannot be forced by its owner onto another, nor taken back forcibly – it makes the dwarf un-marriageable. The book he read was unclear/did not mention what wearing the bead means. He did that because it was convenient and he thought the bead was pretty, and he grew to admire Thorin in the back of his mind, and often imagined meeting him for real.

Check out the AU of this AU. Sneak Chapter 1 is exactly the same, but Thorin does not see the bracelet until Erebor, with the company none the wiser about our favorite Burglar-Hobbit or his theft until then.

Tell me how you like it, and thanks for reading!


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

Bilbo could hardly sleep that night, and after a few hours he gave it up as a bad job. He had used to really love creeping around under the light of the moon and stars. He padded softly into the hall, and surveyed the lay of the land so that he might not trip over any dwarves. He had six guest rooms, but three of them had been converted to store-rooms since he had not envisioned there ever being a need for all six. He liked visitors, but not that much, and he hadn't wanted to think of that many fauntlings with his own blood. Oh, the trouble they would have got up to! But it was not meant to be.

One of the rooms had a big single bed, and this had been given to Gandalf. Fili and Kili had agreed to share a room, and Oin and Gloin had the last. Thorin had puffed on his pipe and ignored him forebodingly when he was trying to make sleeping arrangements, so Bilbo had left him alone. That meant – one, two, three, four in the sitting room; family room made, hmm, seven; number eight in the parlor armchair, and nine on the chaise.

Bilbo went first to the hall closet and gingerly moved things around until he found his journey pack and his best ironwood walking stick. There was a fine lambskin jacket in here, with a jaunty cap folded into the pocket. Bilbo liked the soft cap, made of oilskin and lined with rabbit, with cozy long ear flaps, even if Lobelia thought it looked absurd. He pulled it out, unfolded it, stroked the fur, and folded it back up. His gloves of the finest, thinnest black kid leather were in the opposite hip pocket.

The jacket itself had been given to him (not stolen, actually, for once) by a generous hill-shepherd's son who had grown out of it. It was a bit long in the arms, but Bilbo rolled the sleeves once and it did not encumber his hands. It hung down to mid-thigh on him, and had carved buttons of ram's horn with loops to hold them in place. The fleece went on the inside for the winter and the outside for the summer and it had so many pockets. Tonight, Bilbo shrugged it on, burying his face into the soft collar and smelling the scents of heather and wild wind that still clung to it; the smell of freedom – and of Burglary. Oh, how he missed it. He'd not realized how much.

He slipped his hands into the myriad pockets one by one, fingering all the tools that he'd left in there since he'd last been a-Burgling. Of course it was all still exactly where he'd left it: a folding tool-of-all-trades (Swiss Army Knife), lockpick set, wire snips, stiletto blade, dagger, screwdriver, and a short crow-bar. He had at least four pocket handkerchiefs of various quality, bags of all sizes, several rolls of twine and string, a couple pieces of leather, and other random bits and bobs.

He took the coat off and smoothed it over his arm, then picking up the pack, he went to his room. He brought out his sturdiest and darkest clothes. Dark green brocaded silk waistcoat and navy canvas jacket, aubergine trousers and linen shirts dyed deep brown and cobalt blue. He reached even further back into his wardrobe and pulled out a suit of dark grey linsey-woolsey. He rubbed the fabric between his fingers and just looked for a while at the shirt and pants, which were longer and tighter in the sleeves and legs than hobbits ever wore. He'd made them himself: woven, dyed, and sewn to a pattern of his own devising. No one but him had ever seen these. Abruptly he rolled them up as small as they would go, tied them with a black ribbon and wedged them into the furthest bottom corners of the pack. His regular Hobbit clothes went on top of them, and after a moment of deliberation, he set out a red jacket, brown pants, golden-umber vest, and cream shirt to put on in the morning.

This done, he shouldered the pack and exited his bedroom once again, walking silently to the pantry. The dwarves had eaten a good deal of his stores, but there were remnants here and there. He set about consolidating these, and made a sweep of the other rooms as well. All the dishes had been cleaned and stacked, but there were food stuffs set on shelves and windowsills that had been overlooked. Bilbo stepped carefully around snoring dwarves and took it all into the kitchen. He closed the door and lit a candle, and set about packaging what was left so they might take it with them on their journey.

All through the dark hours of the night, Bilbo steadily worked. As the sun rose, he finally ceased his labors, having been only puttering around for the last half-hour looking for more things to do. He stretched and yawned, cracking his back. The dwarves were still all sound asleep, and so he headed back to his room to catch a nap before they had to set out.

The sharp foreign scent of dwarvish pipe-weed stopped him short. It was coming from the back stoop, so he peered cautiously out the window to see who was there.

It was Thorin, wrapped up against the chilly morning air. He looked up and caught Bilbo's gaze. For a long moment, neither of them moved or breathed. Then Thorin tilted his head once in regal acknowledgement, and turned away to puff on his pipe again. Bilbo shook his head swiftly to dislodge the cobwebs, and hurried to his room, shutting the door firmly. Pressing his back to the door, he blew out a deep breath and ran his fingers over the colorfully dyed and woven leather strips of his bracelet, lingering on the cast-silver clasp centerpiece.

AN: Is my insomnia showing? I like to do my housework in the dark – or write stories in the wee hours of the morning. This baby was conceived and delivered between the hours of one and four A.M. Is it too much?

Also, I'd like to know which version of this story you like better, Sneak or Burglar. In Sneak, no one has even begun to imagine that Bilbo is a Burglar; in this one, Burglar, Thorin knows, and treats Master Baggins markedly different – with respect for his skill, and weird custom-betrothal tension. I'd be interested to know which you favor, and why.


	4. Chapter 4

The next morning:

Once the baggages, packages, parcels, and paraphernalia were acquired and situated, and Bilbo was mounted on his own little pony, he had plenty of time to think, and what he thought about was the night before.

*flashback*

When the tea was over and all the dwarves had finished gossiping, Thorin had spoken. "We shall stay for supper as well, by your leave, Master Burglar. And after – we have much to discuss. But we must have some music first. Now, to clear up!" All the dwarves leapt to their feet immediately and Bilbo began to follow, but Thorin snatched him by the sleeve and made him sit down next to Gandalf and Thorin. Bilbo made a few aborted motions to stand up when the dwarves demonstrated their unique method for clearing up, but subsided into not-quite-a-sulk when the dwarves began to sing their mockery of crockery. After shaking his head in chagrin a few times, he decided that it would be better for his health if he took up the attitude of amusement rather than frustration over the whole affair.

Presently, Thorin and Gandalf took out their pipes and began the oddest sort of competitions involving smoke rings. It was quite unreal and the sense of unreality did not diminish when the dwarves finished their cleaning and brought out their instruments.

Dori, Nori, and Ori had flutes; Bifur and Bofur had clarinets; Fíli and Kíli had fiddles, Dwalin and Balin had enormous viols, Bombur had a drum, and Thorin a magnificent harp. All these instruments were finely crafted but well-worn.

(At this point I *strongly* encourage you to crack open your copy of the Hobbit and read the lyrics of the song the dwarves sing on p14-15, and then go listen to the movies soundtrack version which is excellent if much shorter)

After the last notes of the Dwarves' music had long since died away, and the fire was beginning to, Bilbo stood up. The silence was solemn, but the fire needed feeding. The dwarves stowed their instruments and Thorin began speechifying.

When he paused after the first few statements of what looked to become an elaborately loquacious explanation for a polite remark from the hobbit, Bilbo inclined his head deferentially and smirked a little, then asked, "Contract?" and held out his hand expectantly.

The dwarves all looked at each other, taken aback, and then Balin motioned to Ori to produce the prepared paperwork.

Bilbo glanced at it and then scurried into another room, which turned out to be his study. He lit a lamp, turned it up all the way, settled pair of reading spectacles on his nose, and rustled around in the desk drawers until he laid his hand upon a very fine large magnifying glass. It was a mathom, given to him by his uncle Polo Baggins. The dwarves had all tried to crowd around into the small cluttered room after him and peer over his shoulder.

"What?" he asked, "This fine print is very fine, you know?" Then his gaze swept across the small room and he added, "Some of you will have to wait in the parlor, or we shall all suffocate. Please?" This last he directed at Thorin, who pointed an imperious finger at Balin, Gloín, and Nori, and motioned for the rest to leave. Bilbo took his time reading through the contract carefully, while the dwarves waited, some more patiently than others. In the background he vaguely heard the youngest three wondering what was taking so long and why they couldn't see, and Dwalin's gruff voice telling them to shut up.

Once he had finished the last word of the contract and gone back several times to check and compare things, he sat back in his chair, took off his spectacles, and pinched the bridge of his nose. "You lot are mad," He calmly observed, "but then, I wonder what that makes me?" He stood up abruptly and stepped away from his chair without looking, nearly running face-first into Thorin's chest by that maneuver. He took a hasty step back and, clutching the sheaf of parchment to his own chest, asked in a voice an octave higher than normal, "Who of your party is authorized to negotiate terms?" He cleared his throat and continued in his usual register, "Because I _am quite_ interested in this quest, but I have noticed some worrisome and contradictory clauses in this document, and I don't wish to sign it until the issues are ironed out." Thorin laid a hand on Balin's shoulder, nodded once, and ushered the rest of the dwarves out of the study and closed the door.

Balin turned out to be a shrewd negotiator, but he seemed delighted that Bilbo actually cared about the verbiage and semantics of the contract, and gave Bilbo pretty much everything he wanted as far as changes to the document went. Then Bilbo pulled out his own parchment and carefully recopied the agreed upon document twice. To one copy of the contract, he attached a copy of his sealed will from a file, and wrote up a lease agreement for the lands to his gardener, and for the smial to his favorite young cousin, Drogo. All these he signed and stamped and dated and put together in an envelope which he then addressed to the Thain, Great Smials, Tuckborough.

When he opened the door, it was nearly two hours later than when Thorin had closed it. The estimable King of the Dwarves was pacing, and the others of the company looked bored and antsy. Balin offered them a smile, and Bilbo slipped outside to put the letter in his postbox. It was fully dark now, and the stars twinkled down at him. He took a deep breath of the night air, and stuffed his thumbs into his waistcoat pockets.

During the shut-in of their prospective Burglar, Gloín grumbled that Mister Baggins looked more like a grocer than a Burglar.* He was promptly rounded upon by both Gandalf and Thorin who then each appraised the other curiously.

When Bilbo came in again, he asked, "Who's for supper, then?" glanced at the hall clock, and amended, "Er, late supper, I suppose it is now?" and all the dwarves immediately cheered up.

After they had eaten their fill again (Bilbo's cupboards were absolutely decimated, but he supposed that was not exactly a bad thing since he was going out of town, and at this thought, he could not suppress his grin) he pushed back his chair and took out his pipe.

"I know the outline of the situation, but I know there must be a story behind it."

"It is a long story, and grim. Perhaps the telling of it will help to pass the days on the road?" Thorin offered. Bilbo nodded his acquiescence and puffed tiredly on his pipe.

Fíli and Kíli began to scuffle on the floor, fighting over who had to see to the ponies, so Thorin kicked them apart and sent them both. After this, he drew his cloak around his shoulders and began to brood. And that was it for the night.

*Bilbo settles his dwarven guests and goes to pack - see previous chapter - end flashback*

Now, on this fine April morning, the first day of their quest, Bilbo urged his pony up to the front of the cavalcade near to Thorin, and Gandalf who cut a very fine figure on his tall white horse.* "I should like to hear that story now, or at least the beginning of it, if you would be so kind."

"Oh, very well," said Thorin.

(to read the entire thing which I am not going to type out verbatim - just imagine it on pony back rather than in the parlor at Bag End, see p22 beginning with the previous quote, through p26 until Gandalf says,)

"The dragon and the Mountain are more than big enough tasks for you!"

Thorin grumbled but did not argue the point any further. Instead he turned to Bilbo and asked without a trace of mockery, "So now let us make plans. You are the expert, Burglar. Shall you give us some ideas or suggestions?"

AN: If you do not have a copy of The Hobbit (the book), then go out and get one! So worth it! The page numbers I give are for the paperback published by the Random House Publishing Group. My version of events is not exactly the same as the book, but it is fairly close. I have paraphrased certain lines – that does not mean that I own or have any rights to the Hobbit book or film version. Please don't sue; I cannot even ascertain if the Hobbit is public domain in my country or not! Disclaimer Instance Completed, +10XP, Level Up!

*This was actually Gloín's line originally, but the movie stole it to give to Thorin. Back to the canon, see what I did there?


End file.
